


Another One Bites The Dust

by ouzell



Category: Homestuck
Genre: All of those fun things, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angels, Angelstuck, Bank Robbery, Bounty Hunters, Comedy, Cowboys, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Death, Demons, Demonstuck, F/F, F/M, Guns, Humans, Humanstuck, Intrigue, M/M, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Romance, Train Robbery, Vampires, Wild West AU, Wild West Stereotypes, cowgirls, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 22:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13350783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouzell/pseuds/ouzell
Summary: In the Wild West, there's always an abundance of adventure. This just gets more complicated by the fact that the otherworldly may or may not be lurking just beneath the surface of this crime-riddled town. Everyone has their story, and their secrets. Will bandits get away with their great heist? Will a bounty hunter with a hidden past manage to keep his feelings from mixing with work? Will the mystery woman get away with her nefarious crimes? Will the new sheriff manage to redeem this godforsaken town? Will our bumbling hero manage to keep himself alive amidst the chaos? Jump into the saddle and find out, partner.





	Another One Bites The Dust

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is just to introduce some characters. And don't worry- I leave some things a mystery on purpose. I have lots planned for you ;)  
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S.: The tags don't say that this fic has any ships, but there will be, don't worry. I just don't want to tag any until they're actually in the content. <3

  The town of ‘Lonesome’ didn’t seem to mind- or even care- that a new sheriff was in town. Many had come and gone, and not by their own choice. The ‘wild west’ really was as wild as they said, no matter how stern or just law enforcement considered itself. The title of ‘sheriff’ was a dangerous one, and over time had lost the respect associated with it. That being said, when the new proprietor of this position entered The Parched Fish Saloon, not a head turned at the glint of a shining badge. The only reactions earned were a couple of disinterested coughs and a bitter chuckle.

  This came as no surprise. Lonesome was known for its disease of crime. It had taken over like a plague, pushing out women, children, and most other ‘respectable’ members of society. It was so bad at this point, that the bank had resorted to hiring bounty hunters for security, regardless of their criminal past. (You couldn’t blame them; if all your money had been invested in a business, you’d do anything you could to protect it too.) Anything seemed to go in Lonesome, and it acted as a magnet for not only illegal activity, but those with nowhere else to go. This explained the arrival of Sheriff Harley.

> “Whiskey, sir?”

  It wasn’t the bar keeper’s fault, really. It was hard to tell that she was a woman from underneath her scarf. As soon as it unraveled and was paired next to her hat on the bar before her, his manner adjusted. A woman in a saloon was uncommon, not to mention against the rules in some establishments. That was another reason Lonesome was unique. Rules against women were more lax as well. She recalled this with a smile.

> “Water, please and thank you.”

  Maybe they would pay more attention now that they knew their sheriff was a girl.

  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  On his way to the gallows. How had John even gotten himself into this situation again? Oh, right. ‘Roped’ into this by some good-for-nothing’s. Sure, he had been part of a practical joke that wasn’t actually very funny, but it surely wasn’t worth his life!  
  Apparently, it was.

> “Hi.”

  His cellmate did not seem too keen on conversation. Thin blonde and pale, he assumed he was in the company of a foreigner. That stony silence assured the end of his attempt at conversation. Instead, he shrugged and gave a sigh. Fine.

> “Hey, you wanna stay above snakes?”

  The thick southern accent was highly unexpected, but the sound of another’s voice was welcome. Besides, a chance at saving his own life was something he didn’t feel like passing up on at the moment. Already, he was on board. Whatever he was told to do, he’d do it, just as long as it got him out of trouble. He’d figure the rest out later.

> “Of course I do.”

  It only made sense to speak in a hushed tone, even if there weren’t really any guards nearby. What did they care if the death row inmates talked to each other? After they died it wouldn’t matter anyway. For the first time in the few hours they had kept each other company, he was offered a smile. It was a devious, knowing, coy smile, but a smile nevertheless. She stood, short blonde hair tucked behind her ear before she peered out from between the metal bars caging them in. Obviously, she had a plan. Either that, or she was thinking one up as they spoke. He kind of didn’t care. A plan was a plan.

> “Then follow my lead.”

  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

> “Are you sure this is a… a good idea?”
> 
> “Of _course_ I’m sure! Just shut up and listen to me. I’ve got a plan that’s going to work perfectly, so quit yer’ yappin’ or I’ll cut you outta’ it!”
> 
> “Yes’m.”

  She rolled her eyes at the stupidity of her current evil minion as she studied the map in her hands. Frustration at her own incompetence started to roil in the pit of her stomach. There was no way in hell she would turn around and tell the reason why she felt so, or the fact that she did in the first place. As a leader, it was her duty to be the cleverest person in the room. If that image came crashing down, she was ruined! That, and her underlings would have no one to follow. It was all for them, obviously.  
Vriska set her shoulders and started to roll up the map as she turned around. A satisfied smile had settled itself upon her lips decisively. 

> “We’re takin’ it with us. Let’s get outta here.”
> 
> “Won’t they um… notice?”
> 
> “Don’t be silly! Them high falutin’ gentlemen won’t give two hoots. They probably never come up here anyway.”

  The faint sound of voices started to float in through the door behind them. Both of them froze, everything standing still for the most fleeting of moments. With quick succession, Vriska pocketed the map, grabbed the others’ hand, and made a mad dash out the window.  
  Well, she would have if she could’ve opened it.

>  “Damn it to hell!”

  For a couple seconds she struggled, the handle of the door jiggling. Eventually, she knew she had to give up. With a grim expression, she whipped out her pistol and covered her face as the gunshot rang in their ears. They leapt out the window just as the door opened behind them.

  Much to Vriska’s disappointment, there was nothing soft to break their fall. After tumbling off of the roof, she got the wind knocked right out of her. Luckily it only took a few moments to catch it again. Immediately, she took off, whether her partner were following or not. It looked like he had injured his leg or something, but getting the hell outta there was more important. Still, it wasn’t like she was cruel. That, and she needed his help with the horses they were going to steal.

>  “Come _ON_  Tavros! You’re always so damn _SLOW_!”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  Most days of the week, getting up before dawn was something Roxy didn’t like to do voluntarily. Today she had a special reason to. She only wished her mother had bothered to stay sober while writing down recipes.  
  With just a hint of frustration, she squinted down at her mother’s recipe book. The words ‘eggs’ ‘flour’ and ‘a smidge of sugar’ were just barely discernible. Well that was a bust. Maybe she’d just have to settle for pancakes instead. With a shrug, she put the book back in its special little cupboard and headed out to collect eggs for the special breakfast she was going to make. The sight of the little coop called her memory back to her childhood, when it had stood much taller, or at least seemed like it. Her first time reaching underneath a hen and getting pecked, the hours spent cleaning and replacing hay, or being found amongst the chickens during short games of hide and seek. Just as she was plucking the last egg from underneath the last hen, the sound of spurred boots in the dirt reached her ears. Her hand froze.  
  With a newfound need for secrecy, Roxy secured her hat atop her blonde head and very carefully crept out of the chicken coop toward the kitchen door. The boots were making their way around the house and toward the back. She figured she’d have just enough time to slip inside. With her breath held and ears alert, the door came closer with every hurried step- until there was what seemed like a deafening crunch. She had dropped an egg. The bootsteps stopped- hers didn’t.  
  As soon as she was inside, she let out a relieved breath. That was close. If he had found her, who knows what could’ve happened. It was her brother’s twenty first birthday, and to hell with it if she weren’t going to bake him a cake! Er, something close to a cake. Pancakes counted! Especially if she sang happy birthday while serving them. Now, to get to work.

>    “Surprise!!”

  Roxy beamed at her sibling, supporting a plate of fluffy pancakes in front of her. They didn’t have any candles small enough for the celebration, but she did have a little present on the table, waiting for him to unwrap it. He had just come in from outside- she knew that he had gone around back to wash up before starting his chores.

>    “You shouldn’t have.”

  It warmed her heart to be reminded that she always knew how to make him smile. (Well, that tone of voice that was basically the same thing as smiling.) As he accepted the pancakes, an eyebrow rose.

> “No really, you shouldn’t have.”

  Roxy rolled her eyes in response and pulled a chair out for her brother.

> “Whine any more, and next year you’ll just get a nasty pinch for good luck.”

  As he sat down, she continued.

> “You know I can’t read any of mom’s drunk scrawlings. Besides, a cowboy like you deserves something special before his big trip.”
> 
>   “Just ‘cause it’s my first year alone doesn’t mean it’s special, Roxanne.”

  He noticed the little wrinkle in her nose at the use of her full first name. She always insisted he call her Roxy, as Roxanne was ‘too formal for a funlovin’ cowgirl like me’ as she put it.

>   “‘Doesn’t have to be alone, y’know.”
> 
>   "We’ve been over this. Who’ll look after the farm if you don’t?”

  She sighed and accepted defeat. He was right, he was always right. But what she wouldn’t give to go out into the world and explore it like he could.

> “Fine.”

  Her smile returned before too long, though.

> “Just open your present already, it’s killing me!”

  He humored her, untying the twine and carefully unwrapping the paper. It was a box, which caused him to raise an eyebrow, but as soon as he opened it, surprise replaced his skepticism. It was a beautiful leather belt with his initials inscribed within the detailed leatherwork.

>   “Roxy, this must’ve cost a leg and a half.”
> 
>   “I know! Isn’t it great? Besides, your old one was getting worn.”

  She waggled her eyebrows at her next implication.

> “Besides, maybe it’ll give you some confidence to make new friends in the big city.”

  He gave her a scowl, but she knew he was used to her teasing.

> “Thank you, even if it is far too extravagant.”
> 
>   “You and your fancy words again. Lighten up! Your trip is supposed to be fun and exciting. Who knows who you’ll meet along the way.”
> 
>   “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  She opened her mouth to push him again, but the sound of hoofbeats interrupted her. The two exchanged a puzzled look before heading out front to investigate.  
It was a messenger from the bank. The only reasons they ever got visitors were a friend visiting, a suitor for Roxy to reject, or something was wrong in town, and she knew just by the look on the man's face that it had to be the latter.This sent her into somewhat of a panic. Trouble in Lonesome was never all it seemed, nor did it usually leave all involved unharmed. Her heart sank as he explained. Someone had broken into the back office and stolen something. Immediately, Roxy started toward the stables, forcing her mind to stay in her usually optimistic, perky mode. Her brother could only follow behind, lost.

>  “Roxy, where are you going?”
> 
>   “What do you think, Dirk? I’m going to go see Jane of course! She’s in trouble.”

  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  Kanaya thought that ‘serial killer’ seemed a little dramatic. It was flattering, of course, but dramatic nonetheless. She wasn’t some kind of ruthless barbarian- she was a skilled killer. And that wasn’t her only talent, of course. There was a reason she moved from town to town under the guise of ‘seamstress’. ‘Serial killer’ made her seem like that was all she was good for. Kill, eat, sleep. Of course not. That was reserved for the less calculated killer. She had decided that a long time ago, Kanaya. If she were going to be bad, she was going to be good at it.  
This was what ran through her mind as she read the newspaper from the city she had just left. Once she had reached her fourth victim, they had caught on to her games. Luckily, no one suspects a woman when people are being killed in cold blood on the streets every day. It made for an easy way out. Besides, she didn’t like the feeling that the past was about to catch up to her, and that feeling had started to creep up on her. A new beginning was in order.  
  Lonesome was not her destination, but a stop along the way. She was to stay with a friend there for the night, then continue on her journey by train further North. It was true that the States were full of possibilities- and dinner. See, she was a very particular type of murderess. Kanaya not only killed her victims, she drained them of blood. Some would call her a vampire, some called her a demon, and others called her a succubus. Well… they did. As she waited to arrive, she didn’t think about how long she had walked the earth, nor how long she had killed to live. She didn’t think about these things because they didn’t bother her anymore. It was just the facts; if she wanted to live, she had to do what she had to do. Instead of worrying about all of that nonsense, she peered over her newspaper at the two men sharing her stagecoach.  
  It looked to her like she was sitting across from a couple of cowboys. The first thing one noticed about them was their height difference. It wasn’t that the more scruffy of the two was short, but next to the third passenger, he was dwarfed in comparison. The taller of the two had beautiful pale brown skin, with long dark hair that was neatly pulled back in a ponytail. Were she looking at him objectively, she’d consider him the typical perfect male specimen; muscular, lean, and rough hands, meaning he worked hard. She figured he was heading to Lonesome on business, and cowboys’ business was usually a job opening. The second was thinner, but looked like it might have been due to lack of sleep. The bags under his eyes would be considered alarming by whomever his mother was. He looked like he might never have known one. That almost made her feel a sort of maternal ache for him, until she remembered that she didn’t even know these men. He was probably on the run from his own past. She had heard that anyone heading to Lonesome had to be. She supposed that was true. Young men flocking to the West for opportunity to make a living. It was so much work, she felt they were being naive. So much effort with so little payoff. Nevertheless, they went. It puzzled her, the determination of the ignorant.

> “A woman reading a newspaper. That’s uncommon.”

  The sleepless brooder had spoken. Kanaya wished he hadn’t. All he garnered from her was a blazing glare. He looked unperturbed. 

> “Just an observation.”

  She didn’t know if she liked this grumpy little sack of potatoes. What she wasn’t prepared for, was the other man’s input.

> “You should treat a lady like her with more respect.”

  He didn’t even acknowledge the other man, but instead tried to introduce himself. 

> “I am Equius Zahhak, miss.”

  Had she been feeling a bit more snooty, she would have said ‘bless you.’ 

> “I can talk to her however I want, Mr. Hack!”

  Her eyes flit from one cowboy to the other with a minimum of effort, waiting to see this preposterous argument play out.

> “Besides, I ain’t disrespectin’ her none. She’s in the same stagecoach we are, ain’t she?”

  He seemed to be getting awfully fired up. This was a perfect moment to step in.

> “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zahhak. My name is Kanaya Maryam.”

  She bat her eyelashes and gave a sweet smile, putting down the newspaper in order to follow her act. He was right- it was uncommon to see a woman reading anything around here. She made a mental note to keep better track of those kinds of details in the future. 

> “And you are?”

  She regarded the one whom the loud outburst had come from. He looked a bit disconcerted.

> “Karkat.”

  He took a moment, as if considering the possibility of not giving a last name. He must have decided against it.

> “Vantas. Nice to meet you.”

  That was all they were getting, apparently, for he grumbled and tipped his hat down to cover his eyes for a nap. That conversational door had been closed.

  Mr. Zahhak seemed unimpressed with Karkat’s behavior, but seemed content with following his lead into silence. That little spat had been enough to deter them from attempting to get any friendlier- the three of them seemed to collectively and silently agree that they would be parting ways after this coach ride, seeing as they didn’t seem to get along too well anyway.   She was more than okay with that. Really, she was. The fewer people knew her, the better. It made it easier to leave town in the future without a commotion being made. Luckily, their ride was a short one.

  Upon their arrival, the first thing Kanaya noticed about the town of Lonesome was the smell of horse dung. That wasn’t a surprise, nor was the amount of men or the cacophony coming from the saloon nearby. What was a pleasant surprise was the friendly face that welcomed her. 

> “Kanaya! Oh, it’s been eons!”

  
  As soon as she stepped off the coach, there was her wild-haired friend, embracing her with a beaming grin and- what on earth? Was Aradia wearing pants? This really was too much. How conspicuous could one get?

> “Aradia, what a pleasure. It’s such a nice surprise for you to meet me here.”

  Her expression was warm, but really she just wanted to get to where they were staying as soon as humanly possible.

> “Well, I thought it would only be courteous to bring you home myself. Besides, I wanted to show you some of my new discoveries!”

  She whispered this last bit, excitement lighting up her eyes. It had been a long time since she had seen her so enthusiastic about a project.

> “We ought to get moving then, oughtn’t we?”

  There was no need to use her silver tongue on her friend, but with anyone else she would have easily just been lazy and lapsed into her ability. But no, she needed to save her strength.

> “I’m absolutely famished, anyway. What’s for dinner?”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

> “As a servant of the Lord, I must advise against the decision you’re about to make.”

  The angel’s delicate fingers grazed the handle of a gun with warning. It was a funny contrast, those two themes; the stark purity and peaceful aura of the Lord’s messenger and the harsh, brutal violence of the revolver. In this world however, there could be no peace without consequence, and to say that justice was a perfect blend of the two would be naive. Justice is just a fancy word for revenge.

  In the silence, there was only a whisper of movement before the deafening echo of a gunshot smacked everyone who could hear it upside the head. The satisfying thud of a body falling limp to the ground’ there lay ‘Demon’ Wallace, a bullet in his chest and a steady crimson flower blooming from it like a growing seed of death. His hand had been too slow, but speed would be his ultimate end. Blood flow didn’t listen to things like reason or prayer.

> “I wish you’d listened to me, Wally. Then we wouldn’t be in the predicament that we are now.”

  The subject wheezed and gurgled in response, which seemed enough to earn a reply.

> “Next time, I’d appreciate it if you draw faster or leave town- and you know _damn_ well what I mean by leave town.”

  The clink of spurs as the toe of his boot was rested on the man’s dusty face. The angel scoffed, then smiled.

> “I need a drink.”

Without hesitation, another bullet pierced Wallace’s person.

This time, it went straight through his heart.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! First of all, thanks for reading! I haven't written anything in years, and this just seemed like a really fun idea. Who DOESN'T want to read about demons and angels in the wild west? Anyway, I'm just having fun with this, so if you really genuinely like it, please tell me! Then I'll be sure to add chapters.


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